


Drowning

by bobtherubberduckgod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual John, Bisexual John Watson, Bisexual Male Character, Demisexual Sherlock Holmes, Fluff, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Hurt John Watson, M/M, Mystery, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining John, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-The Final Problem, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-07-11 15:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobtherubberduckgod/pseuds/bobtherubberduckgod
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has always known he was gay, but he wasn't interested in a romantic or sexual relationship until John came into his life.John Watson had always thought he was straight. But now his not-so-newfound feelings for Sherlock are disorientating him.Once a harrowing case involving John comes into play, will Sherlock and John finally understand each other? Will John come to terms with his feelings?





	1. The Beginning of Chapter Two

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda short and basically just a little introductory to get things going. I hope you enjoy and I have big plans for the rest of this story.

Sherlock P.O.V

Sherlock watched as John lifted Rosie above his head, the baby letting out a piercing squeal of joy. Why small humans made such a deafening noise was beyond him, and that is saying something. Nonetheless, the pure act made him smile. And not just because of Rosie. John was beaming at his giggling daughter, his blue eyes shining in the warm sunlight that filtered through the windows.

John looked at him with a smile on his face. In the pit of his stomach something bloomed; warm and rich. It was odd, since it only seemed to happen when John looked at him like that. Nothing could really conjure that sort of funny feeling like John did. John was someone who must be protected at all costs, and Sherlock made a vow to ensure that. He wouldn't fail again.

‘Hey, Sherlock?’ Mary's pain-filled and dying voice rang through his head. ‘I so like you. Did I ever say?’

Sherlock shook his head slightly, clearing the memory from his head. No time for dwelling on things from the past. Sherlock hopped off out of his chair, the cushion springing under the sudden movement. John looked at him curiously, but not for long as this was normal and he went back to playing with Rosie. He walked quickly to the kitchen, blue silk robe billowing behind him. He opened the fridge and took out a jar that contained a pair of eyeballs. Sherlock slammed the fridge door closed and whisked over to the microwave.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, exasperated. He had walked in the kitchen and was carrying Rosie on his hip.

"What?" Sherlock asked, clearly unsure why John was upset. He threw his arms out in a shrug and the eyeballs bounced around in the jar.

"I thought we had agreed no experiments when Rosie is around!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She's a baby, she's not going to remember any of it," Sherlock looked down at the jar and examined the moist, bloodshot orbs. "It'll be fine," he said, scrunching his nose.

John shuffled his feet as he did when he got annoyed or angry or about to say something when he's annoyed or angry.

"No experiments," his voice was low and his commanding voice took over. "Now I'm going to take Rosie down to Mrs. Hudson for a bit."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but promptly shut it. He couldn't argue with a soldier. At least not when he's in the room.

John turned and walked through the kitchen door, cooing at Rosie.

"I will try not to burn the flat down," Sherlock said under his breath, facing the microwave and grabbing tongs from the counter top, unscrewing the lid to the jar.

"What?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said quickly, smirking a bit. John huffed and shook his head, and left to go downstairs.


	2. Worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this.... it's gonna lead up to some stuff.... rip. Idk how to do these things so ye enjoy lol

John P.O.V.

Sherlock did, in fact, almost burned the flat down. Sherlock had said that he knew the eyeball was going to explode, he just wanted to see what would happen after it exploded. Bullshit. John told him not to do these kinds of experiments while Rosie was in the flat. John had thought he'd listened, but apparently not. 

"I was bored!" Sherlock exclaimed, rapidly tapping his fingers on the sofa chair's armrests. "I need a case," he said, slightly quieter. Rosie was at daycare right now, but the habit of keeping quiet in case she was napping was engraved into the two men.

They haven't had many cases since the whole Eurus ordeal, and now that the both of them had calmed and settled down enough from the torturing ordeal, Sherlock was antsy to begin work again. Sure, there had been cases from the Scotland Yard that Greg texted Sherlock, which the detective solved in about five minutes.

John cocked his head to the side, about to retort. He scrunched his lips together, and he opened his mouth to say something, only to shut it again. His arms shot up in resignation and he shook his head quickly, "It's no use to reason. You never listen anyways." 

Sherlock looked taken aback, but he reformed himself calmly. "I think you might be overreacting," Sherlock said in his baritone voice that made John feel tingles down his back, which irritated John. He hated that Sherlock could make him feel like that. He wasn't gay. A muscle feathered in John's jaw. He sat stoic for a moment or two before he dropped his head in his hands, fingers threading through his hair.

He let out a groan and he shut his eyes tight. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," his voice was a bit muffled and he could feel Sherlock's icy grey eyes pierce on the top of his head. His nightmares had come back, but it wasn't of war. Well, in a way, it was. He dreamed of Mary getting shot, her warm blood leaking through his fingers, and the anger that coursed through him and unfairly projected at Sherlock. He dreamed of himself drowning in that well, with no one to help or come, water filling his lungs and darkness flooded his vision. He dreamed of Rosie in a dark room, crying, alone. He was unable to reach her, and she couldn't hear his frantic, panic-filled screams. Usually he woke up sweating and breathing hard. It was difficult to go back to sleep afterwards, so he laid in bed for hours. Sometimes he cried. Sometimes he stared emptily at the ceiling until it was an acceptable hour to get out of bed, or until Rosie woke up. 

John looked up. "I'm just tired," he said, and he knew Sherlock knew he wasn't just tired. Sherlock looked softly at John, deducing easily that he was suffering from nightmares again. John hated that he knew that. That he can see right through him all the time. John set his jaw and firmly nodded once, he didn't need to say anything else. He sat back in his chair. "You need to find a case. Yeah?"

Sherlock still had that stupid, soft, pitying look. John wanted to be mad, and in a way he still was. But not about the stupid microwave. John cocked his head ever so slightly threateningly. Sherlock sighed and went to John's laptop to find a case, long and pale fingers elegantly typing on the keyboard. John's expression grew softer as he looked at Sherlock's mussed curls, and the curve of his back bending over the laptop, pushing against the blue silk of his robe. 

A gut-churning feeling washed over him each time he thought about Sherlock in that way, which was quite often. John felt as though he was betrayed Mary. He felt he was betraying himself and he thought he knew what he was. Now with his not-so-newfound feelings for Sherlock, if that is what you would call them, everything he thought he knew of himself was a big fat pile of mud, all mixed together, not able to see a single thing clearly inside. 

Even with this repulsive feeling, there was a side of light to the situation. Like a crack in a submarine, the beautifully clear water leaking through, and the glass just holding back a flood of water threatening to ruin all that there is. John tended to like this aspect of his feelings, he wanted to bathe in it, he wanted for the glass to crack and break down so he could drown in the warm water, he wanted the water to wash away the mud. But he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't...

~The Next Day~

John was making tea for him and Sherlock because Mrs. Hudson was out doing some sort or other. Probably errands. Rosie was sitting in her high chair munching happily on some half-stale Cheerios. Sherlock looked up to the door, clearly hearing something John didn't.

"Might want to pour an extra cup of tea," the detective said, getting up and sighing through his nose. John rose his eyebrows and grabbed another teacup from the cupboard, the old hinges slightly creaking. A single knock had sounded before it was interrupted by Sherlock swinging the door open violently. "Scotland Yard!" Sherlock exclaimed sarcastically and very unenthusiastically. 

The alarm went off for the tea and John removed the teabags from the cups and disposed of them in the trash can under the sink. He placed the three teacups in the saucers and handed Sherlock one, who had sat down in his chair and he looked quite bored, but with a slight intrigue in his eye because he knew he was about to get an interesting case. John knew why it was going to be so interesting because of Greg's pale face. Greg didn't look at John as he took the teacup and took a sip. Greg's eyes nervously flitted to John's and back to his teacup, where they remained. 

John looked to Sherlock before he spoke, "What is wrong, Greg," the question being more said as a sentence. Rosie squealed in the background, and John went to pick her up from the high chair. He bounce-walked back over to where he was standing previously, Rosie on his hip.

Greg cleared his throat before he spoke, his eyes flitting to John's once more before averting them elsewhere. "It's the Golem."

John furrowed his brows and sat down without too much panic. The Golem didn't have anything to do with John. He sipped his tea and waited for Greg to carry on.

"He got Harry."


	3. Little announcement (not a chapter)

I know most people probably won’t care but I am doing this so I don’t have to feel bad lol. I know I have been gone for a hot minute and I haven’t posted in a while. I think I have the majority of chapter three done but idk. 

For my own sake I am going to take a break (even though I have literally been doing that for like a month or more idek know) but it’s announced so I don’t have to feel bad about it. 

I don’t know when I will post again, we will just have to see.


End file.
